
p s 



Foregone Verses 



By 



William Wallace Whitelock 




Class IP_S^54^ 
BookJiK3_Eb- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



FOREGONE VERSES 

BY 

William Wallace Whitelock 

Author of "The Literary Guillotine," "When the Heart Is 
Young," etc. 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1907 



Copylight 1907 by WILLIAM WALLACE WHITELOCK 

All Rights Reserved 



I LIBBARY of CONGRESS 
I Two Copies Received 



Copyright Entry 



CLASS A XXc.Nd. 
■ •OPY B. 






For permission to republish certain verses in this 
collection thanks are due to Life, The Smart Set, 
The Saturday Evening Post, The Reader, Lippin- 
cott's Magazine, The Associated Sunday Maga- 
zines, Munsey's Magazine, Puck, Town Topics, 
Leslie's Weekly, Brooklyn Life, New York Herald, 
and The Chicago News. 



Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. S. A. 



TO MY WIFE 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Other Fellow 9 

The Twins lO 

The Tariff War With Germany 1 1 

The Polygamous Poet 12 

Euthanasia 13 

Cherchez la Femme 14 

Literature 15 

We Are Ten 15 

At Police Headquarters 17 

International 19 

The Golfer's Paradise 20 

A Ballade of Girls 21 

The Raving 22 

Aftermath 25 

Hopeful 26 

The Last Midshipman 26 

Corbett vs. Shaw 27 

Life in New York 30 

Domestic Economy 31 

The Fruit of Culture 32 

A Dream of Good Servants 32 

Immunity 33 

The Modern Shibboleth 34 

The Golfer's Litany 35 

New York Landmarks 36 

The Incredible Legend of Love 37 

The American Type 38 

Czarisms 39 

A Fallacy 40 

5 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Men Who Stole My Thunder 41 

A Serial in Oil 43 

Farewells to Lent 44 

The Awful Crime of Kawilikafee 46 

A Ballad of Old Maids 47 

Insouciance 48 

The Career of a Critic 49 

Want Ads 50 

The Golf Widow 51 

The First Leap Year 53 

The Saddest Word of Tongue or Pen 54 

New Year's Resolutions 56 

Aus der Feme 57 

Song of the Senator 58 

Convenience 59 

The Joke I Made in England 60 

The Passing of Fifth Avenue 62 

A Question of Sex 63 

The Dowers 64 

Time Up to Date 65 

Starring 66 

In Praise of Homely Women 66 

Commercial Aristocracy 67 

Philosophic Speculation 68 

Conjugal 68 

Hobson's Choice 69 

Christian Charity 70 

How to Tell the Writers 71 

Tainted Money 72 

6 



CONTENTS 

Page 

A Handicap 73 

The Rear Guard 74 

Lazy Majesty 75 

The Concert of the Powers 76 

Flower Heart 78 

Modern Mythology 79 

Butterflies 81 

A Song of the Sea 82 

An Awful Thought 83 

A Ballad of Inconstancy 84 

The New Atlantis 85 

The Fatal Bridge 87 

The Fourths of Other Years 88 

The Three Doctors 89 

The Celtic Revival 91 

After School 92 

In Deutschland 93 

Consistency 94 



THE OTHER FELLOW 

Of all who dwell upon the earth 

There's none I wish to harm, 
There's none who seeing me approach 

Need feel the least alarm ; 
My heart is filled with love for all, 

Save one whom I detest — 
But, oh, the way I hate that man 

Makes up for all the rest! 

I will not write his name lest he 

Should chance to read my rhyme. 
And learning of his danger, flit 

To some far distant clime; 
But just to show how he has used 

Me like a canine yellow, 
I'll give some reasons why I hate 

That horrid 'other' fellow. 

My trouble with him first began 

When we were boys at school. 
He always won the prizes, and 

Made me appear the fool ; 
And then at college later on. 

When reached the years more mellow, 
I found the scholarships all went 

To him, the 'other' fellow. 

When college days were o'er, and I 

To find a job set out, 
To my disgust I learned that he 

Knew what I was about; 
He'd managed to obtain the start — 

By telephone came, "Hello! 
I'm awfully sorry, but we've just 

Engaged the 'other' fellow." 

9 



And then — oh, crudest blow of all! — ■ 

When love had pierced my heart, 
And I went begging Annie Bell 

To take away the smart; 
When I implored her to be mine — 

Much gold she had and yellow! — 
She let me know, oh, wretched girl! 

She loved the 'other' fellow. 

Now, tell me, don't you think that I 

Have cause to hate this man, 
Who lies in wait at every turn 

To harm me if he can? 
If he should fall into my hands 

I'd make him howl and bellow — 
I wouldn't do a thing to him! — 

Confound that 'other' fellow! 

THE TWINS 

If you were a Gibson girl, 

And I were a Davis man. 
And the world were made for our special use, 

And run on our special plan; 
If the dangers were only to show us off, 

To give us a chance to pose — 
We would stalk through life like a king and queen, 

And tread on the necks of our foes. 

If you were a Gibson girl. 

And I were a Davis man. 
And j'ou uttered a wish for the pleasure dome 

In the palace of Kubla Khan, 
I would sail away to that distant land, 

And stir up a war or two — 
But I'd bring back the dome on the top of my head, 

As my prototypes always do. 
lO 



If you were a Gibson girl, 

And I were a Davis man, 
You'd sit with a far-away, pensive look, 

While the course of our serial ran, 
Disdainful of all but my glorious self, 

For I should be seven feet tall — 
But I'd marry your little kid sister at last 

Who was not to come out till the fall. 

THE TARIFF WAR WITH GERMANY 

"Lay on!" said Macbeth William 

To Roosevelt Macduff, 
"And we will see which one will be 

The first to cry enough. 

"Send pork asoaring skyward. 

Screw mutton up to G — 
We've got our beer and pretzels here. 

And that's enough for me, 

"Put beef upon the tariff. 

Raise wheat till out of sight — 

I don't mind much since Wagner's Dutch, 
I'll dine on him to-night. 

"Let oats and corn go soaring, 

Put butter on the shelf — 
I'll say, 'Please pass the looking-glass!' 

And thus inflate myself." 

THE POLYGAMOUS POET 

O Poet — I will call you so, 
I will not write your name — 

With sorrow I have learned that you 
Are dead to honest shame ; 
II 



Each day or two a verse I read 
In which your love's displayed 

For some sweet lass, but every time 
It is a diff'rent maid. 

Last week you sang of one whose hair 

Was "like the setting sun," 
And swore that you would love her while 

"The sands of life do run"; 
Yet here to-day I find you rave 

About a pure brunette. 
And say her hair is like the sky 

"When helios has set." 

The maid you loved at Christmas time 

Is not your Valentine, 
And cherries red and autumn leaves 

Are each a zodiac sign 
Set in the sky of love to show 

Some other star has gained 
Ascendancy, where many a star 

A little while has reigned. 

And so it goes from Kate to Rose, 

From Rose to laughing Bess, 
For each in turn you madly burn, 

As you yourself confess ; 
And yet, as all the world's aware, 

The partner of your life 
Is dumpy, plain, and squints a bit — 

Your uncomplaining wife. 

The Latins said, "As many minds 

As there are men," but you, 
"As many minds as there are girls," 

Which is a doctrine new — 
Indeed, I fear at heart you are 
12 



Polygamous, O Poet! 
But fail to grasp such shamelessness 
As publicly to show it. 



EUTHANASIA 

Father's got conniption fits, 

Put him out of pain; 
Mother's almost lost her wits 

From the awful strain. 
Doctor, can you hesitate? 
Strychnine's yonder on the plate. 

Baby's yelling with his teeth — 
Poor, dear, little creature! 

One above and one beneath. 
Twisting every feature; 

When his mouth he opens wide, 

Give him then the cyannide. 

Fanny's had an awful blow. 
Her engagement's broken ; 

Can you see her suffer so? 
Not a word she's spoken. 

Rough on rats is painful, yet 

It will help her to forget. 

Uncle Benjamin has the gout, 
Feet and legs are swelling. 

Cannot sleep or move about — 
Hark! you hear him yelling? 

We, his heirs, have all agreed 

From his pain he must be freed. 



13 



CHERCHEZ LA FEMME 

Life yields in all its varied round 

Of mysteries not a few, 
Nor can a spot on earth be found 

That knows not one or two ; 
This fact is true of New York town, 

And doubtless of Siam — 
But everywhere the wise declare, 

Cherchez la femme! 

Does some pale youth whose merry laugh 

Once cheered the listener's heart. 
Begin to mope, like moon-struck calf, 

And play a Hamlet's part; 
Or does a man of ancient mien 

Sport like a playful lamb. 
And lose his sense and competence — 

Cherchez la femme! 

The secrets of the Cabinet 

Appear, we'll say, in print, 
Some scandal of the upper set 

Is told by smile and hint; 
Our enemies have learned, we find. 

The strength of Uncle Sam, 
The proper way to win the fray — 

Cherchez la femme! 

And so, my son, cherchez la femme 

Whenever you're in doubt. 
Be not content with saying damn! 

But find the culprit out; 
With steady brain, untroubled eye 

Dissect each show and sham, 
But waste no time on simple man — 

Cherchez la femme! 

14 



LITERATURE 

There was a man who wrote a book, 
And very well, indeed, it took; 
So then another man he went 
And wrote another book anent 
The man who wrote the book. 

But seeing this another took 
The hint and said : "I cannot brook 
That others only should succeed!" 
And so he wrote a lengthy screed 
About the man who wrote about 
the man who wrote the book. 

To try to tell you all were in vain, 
Because it is an endless chain. 

WE ARE TEN 

— A modern child. 



That's fed on oats and force, 
And reads the papers every day, 
What knows it of divorce? 

I met a little city girl. 

She was ten years old or more. 

She had a set of Russian squirrel. 
Her car was at the door. 

"Sisters and brothers, little maid. 

How many may you be?" 
"How many? Ten, when all is said, 

And this is how, you see. 

"There two who with my father dwell. 
He's married Mrs. Gunn, 

15 



And she had two by Mr. Bell, 
Who was her Number One. 

"And two of us have stuck by Ma, 

Myself and Brother Joe; 
And then before she married Pa, 

She'd two as Mrs. Low. 

"And Pa's first marriage brought him one, 

His name is Ebenezer; 
And Ma's now got a baby son — 

She's married Mr. Tweezer." 

"But they are not your next of kin," 

I said, "your very own ; 
To count such brothers is a sin, 

Leave theni I pray, alone." 

"They've borne my name, the very same," 

The little maid insisted ; 
"So oft I've changed and rearranged 

The scheme, I'm getting twisted. 

"The first who went was Brother Len, 

He said that he preferred 
To live with Pa, instead of Ma, 

As much the richer bird. 

"Then Sister Nell thought she would go 

And bunk with Pa as well. 
And I was left with ]3rother Joe 

Alone with Ma to dwell. 

"But baby brother now has come. 

To swell the little fold ; 
And so, you see, the total sum 

Is ten, when all is told." 
i6 



"But they are not your kith or kin, 

As such they have no call!" 
'Twas throwing words away: for still 
The little maid would have her will, 
And said, "We're ten in all !" 



AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS 

"Line up!" says Colonel Bingham, with a military 
look, 

And he frowns in indignation as he scans his little 
book. 

For upon the page that's open are a lot of marks 
that say 

That the men who stand before him have been neg- 
ligent to-day, 

And he pauses to impress them ere he speaks the 
words of blame. 

Then he thunders, "Sergeant Finney!" and the Ser- 
geant says, "Me name!" 

"You were found off duty. Sergeant," says the rul- 
er of the force, 

"And you didn't know the nearest, cheapest bureau 
for divorce 

When a lady asked your counsel, and 'tis charged 
that you were tight 

When you punched an ancient citizen and broke his 
head last night — 
Now, what have you to say 
In excuse for this to-day? 

Do you really, truly, honestly believe that this is 
right?"— 
Says the Sergeant, "Aw, go 'long! 
We want no dance and song. 

If you think this is the Christian Temperance Un- 
ion, you are wrong." 

17 



The Colonel twirls his big mustache and frowns a 

mighty frown, 
Then says, "Ahem !" impressively, and calls on Cap- 
tain Brown, 
And Captain Brown says, "Present!" and he smiles 

a little smile 
That anyone who didn't know would say was full 

of guile. 
"I see that you are guilty," says the honest Colonel 

then, 
"Of taking bribes to not suppress a most notorious 

den; 
And here's a charge against you that you own a big 

saloon, 
And keep it open Sundays from October until 

June ; 
And who put up the money for the charming little 

site 
Where you have built yourself a home across on 

Brooklyn Height? 
Now, what have you to plead 
In excuse for word and deed? 
Do you really, truly, honestly believe that this is 

right?"— 
Says the Captain, "Cut it out 
Till you know what you're about! 
This aint no kindergarten nor a home for those 

with gout!" 

Again the Colonel says, "Ahem!" again he frowns 

severe, 
Then calls upon an officer, who answers with a 

"Here!" 
Again he makes a grievous charge, again he gets a 

laugh, 
Until at last he is convinced this "force" is made of 

chaff; 

i8 



And when at length the squad has left his room for 

other fields, 
He seems to see before him still their uniforms and 

shields ; 
Again he seems to hear the words, "Go easy, now 

me boy! 
We ran this force, I guess, when you were still your 

nurse's joy, 
And we will run it still when you have left for 

other parts, 
To join the McAdoos and Pipers with their cheap 

reforming arts. 
So go easy for awhile 
Till you've learned the proper style, 
And the usefulness of trying to reform Manhattan 

Isle." 

INTERNATIONAL 

Professor Alexander Graham Bell predicts that 
soon, thanks to airships, we shall breakfast in New 
York and dine in Paris — Newspaper. 

I shall be very glad, my dear fellow, 
To meet you to-morrow at eight, 
To breakfast at Cafe Othello, 

But pray that you will not be late; 
I have just an hour to spare you. 
And then I am off on the "Clarice," 
The little airship 
I am taking this trip — 
Oh, I'm dining this evening in Paris! 

They sent me a summons at dinner, 

Returnable next Friday noon, 
To serve as a juror for Skinner — 

You know he defaulted last June — 

19 



In the days of the old poky "Deutschland" 
Such a thing would have served to embarrass, 

But I said, "Never fear, 

I shan't fail to appear, 
Though I'm dining this evening in Paris." 

"My dear," says my wife when I'm leaving 

Sometimes in the morning, "I trust 
You'll help me to-night in receiving 

The guests I've invited — you must!" 
"Oh, goodness, my love, I'm so sorry!" 
I cry, "but I've promised Jack Harris!" 
But with exquisite tact 
I don't mention the fact 
That we're dining that evening in Paris. 



THE GOLFER'S PARADISE 

I ask but little when I'm dead 

As recompense for earthly woes, 
No golden crown upon my head. 

No harp to weary hands and toes; 
No halo would I wear, indeed. 

No purple robe beyond my means — 
I only ask a well-rolled mead. 

With eighteen holes and putting-greens. 

A caddy with a lynx-like eye, 

And wings upon his shoulder-tips, 
Shall watch me whack the balls, then fly 

To follow on their airy trips; 
And when I come on gentle wing. 

He'll hand me then, the watchful soul, 
A putter fit for prince or king 

That's guaranteed to make the hole. 



20 



The "tees" shall be the sort from which 

One drives two hundred yards, at least, 
While over hurdle, bunker, ditch 

The balls shall rise as tho' of yeast; 
The niblicks, mashies and the cleeks 

Shall never miss or make a slip, 
While only he who Scottish speaks 

Shall have a card of membership. 

Here on this field of perfect strokes 

I'll play a winning game with all 
Who beat me when on earth, the folks 

Who think I cannot hit the ball. 
And best of all, the games between, 

When o'er my nectar I am heard 
My triumphs to recount, I ween. 

There'll not be one to doubt my word. 

A BALLADE OF GIRLS. 

Who would not pause to drink a toast, 

To pledge the health of maidens fair, 
While thinking still of her who most 

Excells in wit and beauty rare? 

Who would not thus one moment spare 
For love's devoir, while onward whirls 

The world with all its sordid care? — 
A health, I say, to lovely girls! 

What man of us is too engrossed, 

Too busied with the world's affair, 
An instant to desert his post 

And drink to damsels debonair? 

Nor need he fear lest he forswear 
Himself in pledging flaxen curls, 

If she he loves have raven hair — 
A health, I say, to lovely girls! 

21 



And so this glass to beauty's host! 

A pledge in which we all may share — 
'Tis only thus that we may boast 

The smiles of her without compare, 

The one for whom we each would dare 
And die the death amid the swirls 

Of cannon's smoke and battle's flare — 
A health, I say, to lovely girls! 

L' Envoi. 

Let lovers join us everywhere — 

We have no part with carping churls 

Who laugh to scorn love's sweetest snare- 
A health, a health to lovely girls! 



THE RAVING 

"The Woman's Christian Temperance Union of 
Pittsburg have decided to investigate the charge 
that President Roosevelt received a case of beer 
from a brewing company." — Newspaper. 

Once upon an evening lusty while we sat beside the 
musty. 
Dark, clear, amber-colored beverage the gods call 
beer. 
While we sat there lightly sipping, now and then 
the goblet nipping. 
Suddenly an angry, ripping, female woman did 

appear. 
Quite without a knock or summons suddenly she 
did appear — 

Said I then, "Dee-lighted, dear!" 

aa 



Cause I have for not forgetting time and place that 
brought this fretting 
Delegate to cause upsetting of our drinking of 
the beer; 
I was loath to leave my quaffing, pleasing tales and 
friendly chaffing, 
Merry toasts and heartfelt laughing, laughing at 

the stories queer. 
Laughing at the reminiscence of experiences most 
queer — 

Still I said, "Dee-lighted, dear!" 

For awhile this beardless creature altered not her 
mien or feature. 
But like ancient seer or teacher, fixed me with 
an angry leer; 
And the room grew close and torrid, while the 
damp upon my forehead 
Seemed the clammy moisture horrid caused by 

more than mortal fear. 
Caused by surmise of her mission, which inspired 
mortal fear — 

But I said, "Dee-lighted, dear!" 

Then at last the silence breaking, with a long and 
deep intaking 
Of the breath that set me quaking, thus she spake 
in accents clear: 
"I have come from Pittsburg's borough, over moun- 
tain, dale and furrow, 
And I'm here to make a thorough test of scandal 

and of beer, 
Here to probe this awful scandal that you have 
a case of beer" — 

Quoth I then, "Dee-lighted, dear!" 



23 



Here a goblet quickly seizing filled with nectar cool 
and pleasing, 
She imbibed it without sneezing, drank it to the 
dregs or near. 
"No," she said, "that's not Anheuser, neither Pabst 
nor yet Tannhauser 
That is something even choicer in the line of ta- 
ble-beer. 
In the line I've made my study — that deserves 
the name of beer" — 

And I said "Dee-lighted, dear!" 

"Tell me, tell me," she demanded, "where and 
when this beer was branded, 
If, indeed, it was not landed from Teutonic 
realm this year! 
I've a feeling that I wasted all my life before I 
tasted 
Nectar with this label pasted, which we mortals 

misname beer. 
Which the Woman's Christian Union advertise 
as merely beer" — 

Quoth I then, "Dee-lighted, dear!" 

"Toper!" cried she, "thing of evil, I have asked a 
question civil. 
And I want to know the devil, god or man that 
brewed this here; 
I have often drunk Budweiser, which is fit for 
king or miser, 
And, they say, doth please the Kaiser, but it 

equals not this beer, 
None in all the Union's cellar can compare with 
this here beer" — 

Said I still, "Dee-lighted, dear!" 



24 



"Be that word my invitation," cried this bulwark of 
the Nation, 
And she took up place and station near the table, 
very near; 
And her thirst appeasing, stilling, she remained, like 
Barkus, willing, 
Till the case had need of filling, and there wasn't 

any beer, 
Thus she carried out the mandate that I 
shouldn't drink that beer — 

And I'm still "Dee-lighted, dear!" 



AFTERMATH 

I once met a sage of the gibbering kind, 

His gait and his carriage in keeping — 
"How fearful to live till you're deaf and half- 
blind," 
I thought, "and your walk is but creeping! 
There's none then that want you for work or for 
play 
Throughout the whole bloomin' cosmography: 
What use is this man?" — but he mumbled, "Good 
day, 
I'm writing my autobiography." 

I went on a visit last week to the jail. 

And found them a prisoner releasing. 
So dangerous a man that all offers of bail 

The judge had refused by increasing. 
"Now, what will you do, my poor fellow," I said, 

"For a living — teach bridge or geography?" — 
He winked, and replied, with a shake of his head : 

"I'm writing my autobiography." 



35 



A man who had struggled for years to achieve 

A name in the world literary, 
His needs the most pressing begged me to relieve, 

In a manner that struck me as airy — 
"You don't seem depressed by your state, I must 
say, 

Perhaps you've solved color photography?" — 
"Don't worry," he smiled, "I will pay you some 

I'm writing my autobiography." 

There's balm in the thought that the evening of life 

Is not quite devoid of its uses. 
That after we've failed in the battle and strife. 

And helped to increase its abuses. 
That then we may turn with assurance at last 

To a sort of vicarious typography. 
And rake up the scandalous tales of the past 

By writing our autobiography. 

HOPEFUL 

There was an old spinster unkissed, 

Who sighed, "Just to think what I've missed !" 

But the man in the case 

Said, "You haven't the face. 
Miss Tompkins, I hope, to insist!" 

THE LAST MIDSHIPMAN 

He stood, a scarred and battered wreck. 
With gaping wounds that bled, 

A brick had sti'uck him in the neck, 
A bootjack in the head. 

"Where are thy comrades bold?" I cried — ■ 
"Ohl this is most amazing! 
a6 



Have fallen all?" — but he replied: 
"No, they were fired for hazing." 

I saw him on the campus green, 

With twenty-three professors, 
And not another soul was seen 

Except these stern confessors. 
"Where are the brave cadets," I sighed, 

"On whom I once was gazing? 
Are they on furlough ?" — he replied : 

"No, they were fired for hazing." 

I'm certain when a war breaks out, 

And we have been defeated 
Upon the sea, with fearful rout. 

The scene will be repeated. 
"Why does he stand," the foe will cry, 

"Amid the wreckage blazing? 
Has he no mates?" — then he'll reply: 

"No, they were fired for hazing." 

CORBETT VS. SHAW 

They met at Daly's Theatre in a friendly little 

bout. 
The gate receipts to go to him who knocked the 

other out ; 
As to interest in the pictures many wrangles fierce 

were heard, 
Till Mr. Shaw declared himself contented with a 

third ; 
And they say that he and Corbett had a bet of fifty 

pounds 
Whether Bernard would be in it at the close of 

seven rounds; 
Now, we felt that this was foolish, and that Cor- 
bett had a cinch, 



Although he was prohibited from slugging in a 

clinch, 
Still, a man who's just a writer cannot hope to cope 

with him 
Who has fought his way to glory like the many- 
battled Jim; 
And we sat in awesome silence when the referee 

called, "Time!" 
And the principals were summoned to commit this 

lawful crime; 
Oh ! a smile was on the manly lips of Corbett, while 

a look 
Of conscious dread was on the face of him who 

wrote the book, 
And our hearts went out in anguish to the Irish 

lad so wan, 
As they shook hands in the centre, and the slugging 

match was on. 

A moment's pause, and then the bout began in earn- 
est, for 
Mr. Corbett fell to sparring as he'd never sparred 

before: 
An upper cut, a feint, a pass, and lo! he'd landed 

one, 
And been the first to draw the blood from Ireland's 

doughty son; 
His footwork was magnificent, his mouthwork was 

as fine, 
And every time he spake a word, he mouthed a 

fearsome line ; 
He danced around that quaking stage, the air to 

shreds he rent, 
Till Shaw was quite forgotten and the writer's 

argument ; 
And 'twas plain to any novice that he'd won the 

fifty pound — 

28 



The only question was if Shaw would last the sec- 
ond round : 

He punched him, thumped him, mauled him, till 
our admiration grew 

To see a man maltreated so yet ever rise anew ; 

And the blow received by Bernard at the Warrens' 
quiet affair 

Seemed but a love-tap when compared to those that 
he got there; 

For when the round was ended, he was very nearly 
out, 

And the gong was all that saved him for continuing 
the bout. 

The second round was tamer, and no wonder that 

it was, 
For no one could have stood that pace except a Fuz- 

zi-Wus ; 
And we saw that each was sparring for a chance to 

get his breath: 
In Corbett's case to knock him out, in Shaw's to 

'scape from death; 
And the seconds of the Irish lad looked haggard, 

worn and ill, 
Especially Mr. Stange, who'd arranged the little 

mill ; 
So when the third round started. Oh! we knew the 

end was nigh. 
For gore was on the face of Jim and blood was in 

his eye; 
And he muttered, "Caitiff villain, you will mock 

me nevermore!" 
And his hair stood up in fury and he pawed the suf- 
fering floor. 
While the fire shot from his nostrils and his noble 

form expanded. 
And the expletive he mutterd would have squashed 

him had it landed; 

29 



Then he grabbed the frightened author and he cast 
him on the stage, 

And he trampled on him fiercely in a noble Thes- 
pian rage, 

And he cried, "Ha! Ha! I'll teach him we've an 
immigration law!" 

And that's the way that Corbett did up Irish Ber- 
nard Shaw. 



LIFE IN NEW YORK 

Oh, I lost a leg by trolley. 
And a hand and arm eloped 

In a head-to-head collision, 

When the trains were telescoped. 

By a premature explosion 
When I happened to be nigh, 

I was thrown across some houses 
And came down without an eye. 

In a hotel conflagration 

All my hair was burned away, 
And they found me 'mid the ruins 

Bald as on my natal day. 

Rendered somewhat slow of motion 

By these accidents, I failed 
To escape an automobile 

In the instant I was hailed ; 

And since then I've made my progress, 
After all these wondrous feats. 

In a carriage which a servant 
Pushes slowly thro' the streets. 

30 



Though I'm rather bruised and battered, 

There is still one comfort, for 
By the theory of chances 

I shall live to reach four-score. 

DOMESTIC ECONOMY 

The cost of living in the last eight years has risen 
35.7 per cent. — -Dun's Index Number. 

Anna, do not eat so much! 

You had meat on Sunday; 
Susan, you must never touch 

Bread except on Monday. 
Can you never bear in mind 
Eating is most unrefined? 

William, leave that dish alone! 

Both the noble Catos 
Said that in the temperate zone 

No one needs potatoes; 
What? — the Murphy didn't grow 
In their day? — that's all you know. 

Henry, if you're very good, 

You may have a sniff 
Of this morning's breakfast food, 

Just a tiny whiff. 
Cover up again the plate. 
Lest the strength evaporate. 

No, you must not cut the pie. 

Else it would not last. 
It must in the closet lie 

Till the next repast; 
Hell with appetites is paved — 
Let's give thanks for what we've saved. 

31 



THE FRUIT OF CULTURE 

In ages rude, before the War, 

While ladies still were spinning, 
And cards and theatres, too, were held 

The N. P. U.* of sinning — 
If in those days you showed the lack 

Of proper sense and feeling 
To use another writer's thoughts. 

They bluntly called it stealing. 

But later on when we had gained 

A higher plane of living, 
And of our brothers' failings grown 

More lenient and forgiving — 
If then you used another's verse, 

Thought, tale or witticism. 
It was no longer stealing, but 

A case of plagiarism. 

And now in this most cultured age, 

Of indirection gracious, 
When thieves are kleptomaniacs. 

And liars are mendacious — 
If now you print another's thought 

And give it to the Nation, 
The critics all explain it as 

Unconscious cerebration. 

A DREAM OF GOOD SERVANTS 

Did servants only grow on trees. 

Well down Mnthin our reach, 
'Twould be as easy as you please. 

My dear, to iind a peach. 



*Ne plus ultra. 

32 



Crab-appletrees would bear the fruit 

For crabbed bach'lors. while 
The vine of sour grapes would suit 

Dear maiden ladies' style. 

Of newly wedded couples' eyes 

The pear the goal would be, 
But widows they would patronize 

The Adam's apple-tree. 

The tree of good and evil then 

Were divorcees' resource, 
While families plucked their maids and men 

From family-trees, of course. 

IMMUNITY 

I met a friend I had not 'spied 

For quite a month of Sundays, 
He looked as dapper as a bride 

When she recei^'es on ■Mondays. 
"Great Scott! my boy," I cried, "have you 

Escaped investigation?" 
He laughed, "I've held since '92 

A forei^^n situation." 

A politician whom I know 

Turned up the other morning. 
The kind of man who's out for dough 

But quick to take a warning. 
"How comes it you've not suffered yet," 

I said, "investigation?" 
He smiled, "I'm consul now, you bet. 

Unto a foreign nation." 

An admiral in the service asked 
Me to the club to dinner. 



As in his smile I sat and basked 
I thought I'd sound the sinner: 

"It's rare to meet a man," I said, 
"Who's 'scaped investigation" — 

He winked, "Just get this in your head, 
I'm on a foreign station." 



THE MODERN SHIBBOLETH 

When Ahab ruled in Israel and Jehosaphat in Ju- 

dah, 
Ere ever Mother Eddy or the Esoteric Buddha 
Had had their inspiration and had writ their little 

screed, 
The Bible says that Jephthah went to war with 

Ephraim's breed, 
And every time an Ephraimite they caught who 

couldn't say 
His "shibboleth" in Hebrew in the proper swagger 

way. 

They slew him on the spot. 
And they left him there to rot. 
In a most disgusting, brutal and unsanitary way. 

We have learned a lot since Jephthah, and we do 
not give a hang 

How a man pronounces English or a girl pro- 
nounces slang, 

And we do not slay our enemies and strew them all 
around. 

For such is detrimental to the public health, we've 
found ; 

But the system we've perfected to a superfine de- 
gree, ^^ 

And our "shibboleth" is "money," though we do 
not car a D 

34 



For pronunciation stunts, 
You must get the goods at once, 
If you don't, they do not kill you, for you're dead 
already — see?" 

THE GOLFER'S LITANY 

Driver, specially made for me, 
Balanced to a perfect T, 
Lightly to the hand you swing. 
Struck by you, the ball takes wing, 
Could you but proclaim the strokes 
You have made, to other folks. 
Could you but my Boswell be! — 
Driver, specially made for me. 

Mashie, golfer's best recourse 
When 'tis skill he needs, not force, 
When from hummock, hole or rut. 
When from road or open cut, 
He'd regain the course once more 
Without damage to his score — 
Mashie, golfer's best recourse 
When 'tis skill he needs, not force. 

Putter, monarch of the green, 
Where the highest skill is seen, 
Where the finest work is done. 
Where the game is lost and won. 
Where the Scot redeems the past. 
And the foursome ends at last. 
Where the highest skill is seen — 
Putter, monarch of the green. 

Cleek, the truest friend of all, 
Ever ready for the ball. 
Ever ready to replace, 

35 



Each or all in every case: 
Niblick, brassie — what is more, 
Lofter, too, if need be sore — 
Cleek, the truest friend of all, 
Ever ready for the call. 

Driver, mashie, putter, cleek — 
Had your tongue wherew^ith to speak, 
To recount the wonderous strokes 
I have made, to other folks, 
Could you but my prowess tell. 
Seen by you in vale and dell. 
Could you, could you only speak! — 
Driver, niblick, lofter, cleek. 

NEW YORK LANDMARKS 

One day I walked along the street. 

And saw a big hotel. 
Just then a friend I chanced to meet. 

And stopped to chat a spell ; 
And naturally we had a drink — 

Just one, I swear it on 
My honor — and what do you think? — 

That big hotel had gone! 

Again I strolled along awhile. 

And saw a vacant lot. 
And thought, "This sort of suits my style, 

I won't forget this spot." 
Just then there was a great to-do — 

A lady'd lost her pup — 
And wlien I sought my lot anew, 

A house was half-way up ! 

A little dazed, I turned to trace 
My way downtown again, 

36 



And afterwhile I reached the place 

Where I was walking when 
I'd met my friend an hour before, 

But where that big hotel 
Had vanished, they'd put up a store 

And armory as well. 

Thought I, "This city moves too slow, 

I'll hie me home, in truth!" 
But when I'd reach the old depot. 

It, too, had gone, forsooth ! 
Naught was the same from stern to prow 

As when I'd struck the town, 
P'or what was down was up by now, 

And what was up was down. 



THE INCREDIBLE LEGEND OF LOVE 

There was a maiden wonderous fair — 

'I'is but a legend, pray remark — 
Who lived somewhere 'twixt Union Square 

And t'other end of Central Park; 
Her eyes were soft and deepest brown, 

Her lips were red as they could be. 
And there was not in all the town 

A girl one-half as rich as she. 

This latter fact was not of course 

At all important in those days, 
And I but mention it perforce 

To show the world's unaltered ways. 
Now, in the course of time she went 

Across to Europe, you must know. 
And when she reached the Continent 

They took her out to see the show. 



37 



And Marquis This and Baron That 

Were reallj' charmingly polite, 
And Viscount Loose and General Bat 

Would hardly trust her out of sight; 
Indeed, 'tis said they offered all 

To let her buy a title — though 
'Ts hard to think a lord would fall, 

As this would prove, so very low. 

But most astounding to relate, 

This maiden whom I sing about 
Returned unto the Empire State 

As single as when she set out ; 
But even more astounding still. 

She married then, this foolish dove, 
A plain American named Hill, 

Just out of common, bourgeois love. 

Now, how the match turned out, I've not 

Been told, nor do I really care. 
For one so stupid, so besot. 

Deserves oblivion as her share. 
But then, as I remarked before, 

'Tis but a legend I relate. 
For things like this — oh, nevermore! — 

Don't happen in the Empire State. 

THE AMERICAN TYPE 

The Irishman who seeks the States 

To gather in the dross. 
Puffs at his pipe and ruminates: 

"Oi'll make meself a boss!" — 
But when Pat's grandson gets his turn 

To make the dollars go. 
He gold-tipped cigarettes doth burn. 

And murmurs, "Doncherknow!" 

38 



The German immigrant declares: 

"Ach, was Sie sagen — nein!" 
And says, "Mein Himmel!" when he swears, 

And drinks his beer and wine ; 
But afterwhile his grandson, too. 

Refined and swell doth grow. 
And then no matter what you do 

He murmurs, "Doncherknow!" 

The man from Naples when he first 

Strikes Ellis Island, cries: 
"Per Baccho!" till he's like to burst. 

And heaves spaghetti sighs; 
But with the years his grandson comes 

To strut about and blow, 
And sit around and twirl his thumbs, 

And murmur, "Doncherknow!" 

Now, Europeans sneer that we 

Have not a type as yet, 
That some are German as can be. 

And some are Swede or Lett ; 
But critics, if they knew the facts, 

I'm sure would be more slow 
In passing judgment on our acts, 

And grandsons, "Doncherknow." 

CZARISMS 

It is fine to be a ruler, and to keep the people down. 
To see them grovel at your smile and tremble at 

your frown ; 
But thought of bombs brings drawbacks, lest they 

hoist you on the shelf. 
For you are never sure, alas! of "keeping down" 

yourself. 

39 



It is great to be a despot, and to know that you 

are backed 
By a half dozen armies that will keep your realm 

intact ; 
But the thought of bombs is gruesome, and it 

spoils your little song, 
For you're never sure that you yourself will keep 

"in tact" for long. 

A FALLACY 

'Tis thought that man has need of much, 

In this our age of splurge and fashion. 
Of horses, carriages and such. 

Besides a very liberal ration; 
Of clothes and wines he craves a lot. 

Because one want another breeds — 
But I, I hold such teaching rot: 

A little money's all he needs. 

Most men believe they cannot live 

Without a motor car these days. 
That they are lost unless they give 

Receptions, balls and big displays; 
Or, rather, 'tis their wives who've got 

This idea in their mental weeds — 
But I, I hold such teaching rot: 

A little money's all man needs. 

So, since the world and I are split 

Regarding the essential thing. 
Let's strike a bargain, thus, to-wit. 

The world shall have its little fling. 
Shall dine from off its silver dish, 

And I will feel no envious greed, 
If I may have my modest wish: 

A lot of money's all I need. 
40 



THiE MEN WHO STOLE MY THUNDER 
("Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt.") 

I'm certain manj^ years ago, 

Before to earth I came, 
While still a problematic thing, 

Sans body, sense or name; 
I'm certain that the mighty gods 

In solemn conclave sat, 
And to decide upon my gifts 

They passed around the hat. 

I'm certain, too, tliat most of them 

Were out of sorts that day, 
And when it came their turn to give 

Turned peevishly away; 
I'm certain that Apollo frowned 

And shook his scented curls. 
And that the Muses turned me down, 

As later other girls. 

That is, that all of them save one 

Were careless of my fate, 
Which leaves, as there were nine in all, 

You'll find, I think, just eight; 
Euterpe, though, the poet's friend. 

Said, "He shall be a poet!" 
And tho' j^ou smile, the maid was right — 

I think that I can show it. 

I will not quote the verses which 

To sell I've tried in vain. 
For doubtless you have written verse 

Which you got back again ; 
But I will use an argument 

That's neither forced nor strained — ■ 

41 



ril tell you some poetic thoughts 
Which I have entertained. 

When I was still a lad in kilts 

And my small brother came, 
They hesitated weeks and months 

About his Christian name, 
Until I cried, "No matter what 

You call that nasty brute. 
The women who come here will call 

Him sweet and dear and cute!" 

I'd never read Shakespeare, of course, 

Yet, here's the thought complete: 
"A rose by any other name 

It still would smell as sweet!" 
Indeed, I find, Shakespeare and I 

Have many thoughts the same, 
And had he not preceded me 

I might have Bacon's fame. 

But coming down to modern bards, 

'Tis clear that Tennyson 
Was very fond of putting things 

The same as I have done ; 
For instance, once I loved a maid, 

And got engaged, to boot, 
But when I broke it off she brought 

A breach of promise suit! 

Now, happily I gained my case. 

That is, in substance, for 
The verdict was for seven cents 

And not a penny more ; 
And I, I cried when I had grasped 

These damages immense: 
" 'Tis better to have loved and lost 

A girl worth seven cents!" 
42 



Indeed, 'twere easy, had I time, 

To show how cruel my fate, 
How I have missed the palm of fame 

By being born too late; 
How Byron, Browning, Keats and Scott 

Have each and everyone 
So often put the self-same thought 

Exactly as I've done. 

And yet, I think I could forgive 

These bards, since they are dead. 
If only those who're still alive 

Had left some things unsaid ; 
But here's this fellow Kipling comes 

And in his jaunty way, 
Appropriates the very few 

Good things still left to say. 



A SERIAL IN OIL 

There's a serial that is running in the papers of the 

town. 
And it beats all others hollow and it does them all 

up brown ; 
It's a chilling, thrilling story, though there's not a 

word of love. 
And he never calls her "darling" and she never 

whispers "dove"; 
But there are harsher, cruder appellations heard to 

pass. 
Such as "young, ambitious upstart," which inter- 
preted is — ass; 
And the "young, ambitious upstart" says that his 

opponent tries 
To divert attention merely from the point by his 

replies — 

43 



So the serial keeps on running through advertures 

wierd and vexed, 
And the public waits in eagerness to read the eery 
text, 

But, alas! just when we've got 
To the kernel of the plot, 
There's an oily man informs us it's "continued in 
our next." 

Now, it's not an easy matter to divert the public 

taste, 
And the ordinary serial simply runs itself to waste, 
But the story 1 am singing is a warm Missouri 

one, 
And there isn't any dragging or suspension of the 

fun ; 
There's a duel that's continuous, and knights are 

stern and bold. 
And the court is there to make it seem a tournament 

of old, 
And they crack each other's knuckles till the referee 

calls "Foul!" 
Though the thing that they are fighting for would 

stump the wisest owl ; 
]3ut majbe that's the thing that lends such charm 

unto the text. 
To find what all the row's about and why the 

knights are vexed — 

So we'll hope it will not close 
With the parting of the foes, 
And an oily man informing us, "continued in our 

next." 

FAREWELLS TO LENT 

"Good-bye, dear Lent!" the doctor said, 
"You've been a friend, indeed, 

44 



You've brought me fasting patients, and 

I've let myself be 'feed': 
Strong men who'd given up cigars, 

But doubled up on 'treats,' 
And women without scandal who 

Had sickened on such sweets." 

"Good-bye, O Lent, a long good-bye!" 

The actor said and sighed, 
"I would that you through all the year 

Might with us still abide; 
For bored to death when balls have ceased 

And dinners reached their end, 
Dame Fashion says the actor is 

Her best and only friend." 

"O Lent, good-bye! Quick, get thee gone!" 

The candy-merchant cries, 
"Each year I see thee come anew 

With groanings and with sighs; 
For with thy advent sales decrease 

And shrink almost to naught — 
Suppose that all the year were Lent — 

Oh, perish such a thought!" 

"Good-bye to Lent!" the curate says. 

And lays his robes away, 
"And did 1 have the power, methinks, 

I would not bid thee stay ; 
'Tis true, I've played my little role 

Some forty days and more. 
But now I need not take my wine 

In secret as before." 

"Sweet Lent, good-bye!" the maiden sighs, 
"The Easter bells grow dumb, 

Yet for the Lent that just has passed 
I'll love all Lents to come; 
45 



For since he did not dance nor strive 

To follow fashion's maze, 
I fear I had not learned his worth 

Save in the lenten days." 

THE AWFUL CRIME OF KAWILIKAFEE 

Kawilikefee was a man, was he. 

Who lived in the Marrowbone Isle, 
Where the favorite dish is a fricasee 

Prepared in the Marrowbone style. 
But they don't care much for a sirloin steak, 
Unless it's the "loin" of a "sir" they bake. 

Kawilikafee was a man who waxed 

As great as a man can grow. 
And everyone who was battle-axed. 

As their custom is, you know, 
Was inspected first by his eagle eye 
To see if fit for a Marrowbone pie. 

For the Marrowbone people are like the Dutch, 

And their pure food laws are strict. 
And American meats don't please them much 

Till after they're cured and picked ; 
But Kawilikafee grew lax with time. 
And laxity marks the beginning of crime. 

Kawilikafee was a greedy bird. 

And he harked to the tempter's voice. 

And he kept for himself a tidy third 
Ere he O. K'd each invoice ; 

For his family was large and his needs were great, 

And he gave big dinners to Church and State. 

Now, this went on for a year or two, 
And he came to think that he 

46 



Was safe whatever he chose to do 
In that isle in the Southern Sea; 
But there came a day of investigation, 
As such will come to the stanchest nation. 

And they haled him up to the court for trial, 

And exposed him to all the land, 
He swore the O K's for quite awhile 

Didn't emanate from his hand ; 
But an expert proved the curves identical, 
And they found him guilty in full conventicle. 

They found him guilty of having admitted 

American meats ad lib.. 
Regardless of sex, and some half-witted. 

As quarters and steaks from the rib; 
And the judge was stern, as a judge should be. 
And he passed this sentence in Marrowbonee: 

"We will not send you in exile, no. 

We'll manifest greater gumption, 
We'll feed you up for a month or so, 

And keep you for home consumption" — 
And all must admire this judge, I swear. 
For they kill two birds with one stone down there. 

A BALLAD OF OLD MAIDS 

Oh, beauty of a by-gone age. 

Of merry, ante-bellum days. 
When hoops and rouge were still the rage, 

And romance lingered by the ways — 
Why hast thou played upon the stage 

So many years alone — in fine, 
Was there no cavalier or page 

To play the lover's role to thine? 

47 



There was but one who might have played 
The role of all whom I have known — 

But, ah! he chose another maid, 
And I have played my part alone. 

And thou, sweet dame with snowy hair, 

And softly smiling, pensive eyes, 
Whose face, despite the years, is fair, 

Since beauty never really dies — 
Why hast thou passed thro' joy and care 

With none to make the way seem short, 
With none to bear a lover's share. 

And guide thee safely into port? 

We laid the keel for two, but when 

The launching time had come at length 

There fell a shaft of death — since then 
I've sailed the craft with single strength. 

And ye who've trod the marriage marts. 

But found no bidder at your price, 
Whose youth is now a thing of arts. 

Come, tell your story in a trice! 
But no, I will not probe your hearts 

To lay them bare for friends and foes — 
Go, play your lonely, cheerless parts 

As best you can until the close. 



INSOUCIANCE 

There once was a young millionaire, 
Who said, "What the deuce do I care 

How many I kill 

With my automobill? 
The blood washes off it, I swear!" 

48 



THE CAREER OF A CRITIC 

There's nothing much that I can do, 
I cannot write, or play, or paint; 

Indeed, my gifts are very few, 
And faint. 

I tried, when young, to make a name. 

In all the various lines of art; 
But failed to find the way to fame — 

A mart. 

My pictures would not sell, my verse 
Came back with but the faintest lapse 

Of time — one wrote: "There may be worse- 
Perhaps!" 

A book I wrote, "The Love Untold," 
And with my money put it through ; 

Of all the copies there were sold 
Just two. 

Such was my start, but think you I 
Despaired on that account of fame? 

Ah no! — "It ne'er," I cried, "shall die. 
My name!" 

"The Love Untold" I bought and burned. 

The whole edition minus two ; 
And then I my attention turned 

Anew 

To art and song and literature. 

But this time in a different way, 
And one which better proved, I'm sure, 

You'll say. 



49 



For I became a critic, set 

Myself to deal out blame and praise, 
The sort you cannot please, nor yet 

Amaze. 

I sniffed at all the paintings that 
I could not paint a crown to win; 

The Venuses were all too fat, 
Or thin, 

To earn approval of my pen. 

The landscapes were a sorry job, 

The portraits travesties of men, 
A daub. 

On poetry I was just as hard, 

And sneered at Browning, Kipling, Yeats; 
"There's been," I said, "no modern bard 

Since Keats." 

At music, too, I had my fling. 

And praj^ed the singers all for peace; 

"Why don't they learn," I cried, "to sing. 
Or cease!" 

And now I find men speak my name 
With bated breath and eyes upcast, 

For I have won undying fame 
At last. 

WANT ADS 

Wanted, a five-cent telephone 
For New York and vicinity, 

To see the subway, too, full-grown 
From Yonkers down to Trinity; 

And if a guard-rail should be built 

50 



Through inadvertence at some station, 
We'd not construe as sign of guilt 
This strange, unheard of aberration. 

Wanted, a metre that will show 

Exactly how much gas you've used, 
Or if a little less — well, no, 

I do not think 'twould be refused ; 
And, then, let's see, perhaps we might 

Like adequate police protection. 
To know oneself quite safe at night 

Would scarcely call forth great objection. 

Wanted, a little gambling — yes, 

Especially little would be nice; 
And of police corruption less 

Than even little would suffice; 
And since we're on the want, perhaps 

'Twill not be thought to be amazing 
If we should want those navy chaps 

To let up just a bit on hazing. 

Wanted, a cook who'll stay a week, 

A chambermaid who'll make the bed. 
Wanted, a wife who will not seek 

To get divorced as soon as wed ; 
Wanted, low rents and high per cent., 

A tariff all would wish just so; 
Wanted — but on the eve of Lent 

Man wants but little here below. 

THE GOLF WIDOW 

She sits with sad and lonely heart, 

And dreams with open eyes, 
From which at times the teardrops start, 

To mingle with her sighs; 

51 



She dreams of days that are no more, 
Among her husband's "cups," 

Before he made the record score, 

When shared their "downs" and "ups. 

His clubs they litter up the hall, 

And half the rooms are locked, 
Where dry his balls, the parlor-wall 

Artistically is blocked 
With printed records of his fame. 

And snapshots of his style — 
She's come to bear a famous name, 

But ceased to laugh and smile. 

He's out "addressing" balls, instead 

Of making love to her. 
Their little "twosome" days have fled. 

He "foursomes" doth prefer; 
His "teeing" ground's another place. 

Her "caddy" waits in vain — 
A quinine pill he'd rather chase 

Across the steaming plain. 

To-day he plays at Shinnecock, 

To-morrow Garden City, 
Next week he's booked for Little Rock, 

And Denver — more's the pity — 
And so it goes from East to West, 

And up and down the coast, 
Although "approaching" is the test 

By which he swears the most. 

Her ball of happiness, I fear. 

Is badly ditched, and so 
She's lost the hole — poor widowed soul!— 

"Match" play's the game, you know— 
The putting green is far away, 
52 



And Love — the caddy once — 
Bore clubs and all beyond recall 
For such "recovery" stunts. 

THE FIRST LEAP YEAR 

I've heard it said when Father Time 

Was young, long years ago, 
Like others in their early prime. 

That he, too, sought to know 
The myst'ries of the future, and 

Accordingly he sought 
A palmist who could read his hand, 

And likewise read his thought. 

The palmist held his hand in hers — 

He then was young, you see — 
And said, "My friend, your future stirs 

My deepest sympathy" — 
"You mean," said Time, "that I shall wed? 

Speak out, nor fear the blow" — 
The palmist sadly shook her head — 

" 'Tis worse than that, you know." 

"Great Scott!" cried Time, "can that be true?" 

The palmist nodded "Qui!" 
"Explain yourself," said Time, "pray do! 

Your words they torture me — " 
The palmist said, "Behold this line — " 

Time nodded in assent — 
"Well, doubtless now, you think it fine, 

Your life line's excellent. 

"But, lo! this mound of Venus, see! 

You know what that purports?" 
Time strove to speak, so scared was he 

He only uttered snorts — 

53 



"Her name? Eternity — But wait! 

Don't run away in fear!" — 
Time strove so hard to jump his fate, 

They christened it "leap year." 



THE SADDEST WORD OF TONGUE OR 
PEN 

There was a man I've heard about who when he 

was at school 
Would spend his days in thinking out some new 

financial rule, 
His nights were passed in fevered sleep with dreams 

of future wealth, 
And everytime he spent a dime he felt he'd hurt his 

health : 
Until at last he hit upon an idea large and bold : 
To found a big monopoly and turn it into gold ; 
And so he fixed his claws upon a thing we cannot 

lack, 
And ever since he's spent his time in filling up his 

sack; 
And when he's forced to spend a dime, as even rich 

men may. 
He puts the price of Standard up and gets it back 

next day — 
And everyone, I'm sure, unless he's hopelessly er- 
ratic, 
Will sympathize with me when I declare in tones 

emphatic : 

I really wish I'd thought of that! 

There was a man named Edison, who built the 

phonograph. 
The sort of thing that's used to make the people 

weep and laugh; 

54 



And then there was another chap who made the tel- 
ephone, 

That lets you talk with Boston when you're in the 
torrid zone; 

And these two fellows make, they say, an awful pile 
each year. 

Just living on their royalties, on breakfast foods and 
beer. 

And all because one day in June, or maybe in Octo- 
ber, 

They had a snappy, happy thought, and had it, too, 
when sober; 

And then — well, then they built the thing, and 
that's the bloomin' story. 

And ever since they've strutted round and lived up- 
on their glory — 

And I am sure that everyone, unless he's quite er- 
ratic. 

Will sympathize with me when I declare in tones 
emphatic : 

I really wish I'd thought of that! 

A chap came over here one day, from Europe in the 

fall. 
And brought his title with him, and — I reckon that 

was all. 
For when he went atraveling round some friend 

would pay the fare. 
He had no cash, and yet I know he didn't live on 

air; 
He drank the best of wine and dressed the way a 

fellow ought, 
And moved around in circles where the high finance 

is taught; 
And yet he was not clever as you reckon wit and 

sense. 
Although he had one idea which was certainly im- 
mense, 

55 



That he would catch an heiress with her fortune in 

her name, 
And take her back to Europe to the land from 

which he came — 
And I am certain every chap who isn't quite erratic 
Will sympathize with me when I declare in tones 

emphatic: 

I really wish I'd thought of that! 

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS 

I've got a pot of patent glue 

That's said to mend most everything, 
And render it as strong as new, 

From china to a wedding-ring: 
'Twas not for china, though, that I 

Did purchase it, 'twas bought to mend 
The resolutions which I broke 

From last year's opening to its end. 

As each was smashed I gathered up 

The fragments with the greatest care, 
As one who breaks a precious cup 

Whose like exists not anywhere: 
And now since New Year's here, and all 

Have resolutions fresh and bright, 
I think I'll get my fragments out, 

And tr)' my patent glue to-night. 

Here first in order stands, I see, 

The resolution not to lose 
My temper — ah, that it should be 

As frail as painted Sevres views! 
The tiny bits with patient care 

I piece together with the glue. 
Until the whole, I do declare. 

Looks just about as good as new. 

56 



The words upon the next one speak 

Of "church attendance" — and it means 
That I have broken it each week, 

For see, 'tis smashed to smithereens! 
But here again I find that art 

Is equal to the task assigned. 
For lo, when patched with steady hand, 

The tell-tale cracks you'd hardly find. 

This resolution 's not to flirt — 

'Tis only cracked a bit, you see, 
And cracks, I've found, do little hurt 

In lessening of utility; 
And here is "charity," and here 

My "duties politic," and then 
The resolution that I'll be 

All things unto my fellow men. 

And so I pass along the line 

With glue and brush and patience, till 
My resolutions look as fine 

As though they'd never had a spill. 
Come, New Year, bring temptations on ! 

I do not fear your worst attack. 
With resolutions such as these 

I know that I shall beat you back. 

AUS DER FERNE 

The streets are clean in old Berlin, 

And neatly named and numbered, too, 

To overcrowd the cars were sin. 
And something that they never do; 

The dogs are safely muzzled, and 
The Kaiser's not — he's ofiE to Cork, 

The papers say — it's charming — but 
It ain't New York ! 

57 



Behold the crowds in gay Paree, 

The smiling dames and maidens fair, 

The Bois is beautiful to see — 
This is the place to banish care ! 

Such dainty things I've never eat, 

Those little breakfasts "at the fork"! — 

There's nothing else quite like it — but 
It ain't New^ York! 

I'm fond of art, and love the things, 

I find in Rome, nowhere beside. 
The glory of departed kings. 

The present and the past allied; 
And London, too, is fine I'm sure, 

The "Row" and other bloomin' shows- 
They're great, I know, but, then, you see, 
They aint New York, 
I'll tell you those! 



SONG OF THE SENATOR 

I come from haunts of silver ore, 

I struck it unexpected. 
So made myself a Senator, 

Prepaid and then elected. 

I brought my wife and daughter East, 

I bought a house and garden. 
And gave a diplomatic feast — 

They both wore Dolly Varden! 

They smirked and glanced, they smiled and danced, 
They'd nod their head and shake it, 

But when alone they madly pranced. 
And cried, "We'll never make it!" 

58 



They left their cards on high and low 

Beside Potomac's river, 
For men may come and men may go, 

But women go forever. 

I made a speech that thrilled the world 
On trust, hight 'boa-constrictors' ; 

My daughter cried, her lip was curled, 
"Oh, Pa, shave off your whiskers!" 

And so I shaved them from my chin, 

Where they so long had rested ; 
Society then took us in — 

Our carriage now is crested. 

CONVENIENCE 

There was a young man in a flat, 
The kind that they call "anti-fat;" 

He couldn't turn round. 

But he said, "I have found 
That I know^ just where everything's at." 

A BALLADE OF YESTERDAYS 

Sweet lips of Rosalie, that drew 

The anguish from the wound your eyes 

liad dealt unto my heart, when you 
Acknowledged in a storm of sighs 
The lover in the coquette's guise. 

And rivaled with your blush the flare 
That lights the western summer skies — 

One yesterday thro' you was fair. 

Pale Phoebe, symbol of the true, 
Of those fixed stars which ever rise 

59 



Unchanged to-day to meet the view, 
As in the days of high emprise, — 
Alas, that time unceasing flies. 

To win some goal, we know not where, 
With beauty as his dearest prize — 

One yesterday thro' you was fair. 

And Gladys, with the eyes of blue. 
Like mountain lake where hidden lies 

The laughter, when the clouds are few, 
Awaiting but the wind's surprise — 
Your beauty jealous time defies: 

Before me clear tho' traced in air. 
You stand, and memory replies — 

One yesterday thro' you was fair. 

L'Envoi 

Nor would I wish it otherwise, 

That they my future joy might share 

The past I would not sacrifice — 
Thro' them my yesterdays were fair. 

THE JOKE I MADE IN ENGLAND 

They asked me to a dinner. 

And they made me make a speech, 
Oh, I didn't want to do it, 

For I'd naught to say or teach: 
But alas, I weakly yielded, 

And alack, I made a joke^ — 
And now I wish I hadn't. 

How I wish I hadn't spoke! 

At first I made a few remarks. 

In a deprecating way, 
t)n the hardships of a speaker 
60 



When he knows not what to say; 
And as they all applauded, 

Why, I thought I'd scored a hit, 
And like many other speakers, 

Grew enamored of my wit. 

Emboldened by this first success, 

I gave my fancy rein. 
And spoke of Anglo-Saxon union, 

In 'ambassadoral' strain ; 
And I told how we loved England, 

And hoped she loved us, too — 
At this they broke out cheering. 

As I'd read they always do. 

Now, if I'd only stopped right there, 

How wise I should have been! 
But no, I kept on talking — 

And 'twas here the joke came in — 
"But should you go to war with us," 

I said, "or at us scoff, 
We'd very quickly freeze you out — 

We'd turn the Gulf stream off." 

I ceased, and waited for the laugh 

Which I considered due ; 
But, oh, the silence of that room! 

It chilled me through and through; 
Now, some of them they shook their heads, 

Some shivered as with cold. 
As though they felt already 

The freeze-out I'd foretold. 

At last when I had floundered on. 

And reached a painful close. 
And sunk exhausted in my seat. 

The solemn chairman rose — 
6i 



"You have heard," he said, "the measure 
Which the speaker says they'll use 

In case of war with England — 
I should like to hear j^our views." 

Then down he sat, but seven 

Who were sitting at that board 
Proceeded seriatim 

Their opinions to record ; 
All spoke in terms of horror 

Of the plan that I'd laid down, 
And finally they voted to 

Memorialize the crown. 

Of course the papers took it up, 

And pla3'ed upon the theme 
How long 'twould take the British Isles, 

In case we turned the stream. 
To turn into a land of ice, 

With polar bears about. 
And whether artificial heat 

Would serve to thaw them out. 

The House of Lords debated. 

And the House of Commons, too. 
The measures that were best to take — 

They sat the whole night through ; 
In fact, I think they're sitting yet. 

In solemn, sad array — 
So, make no jokes in England, 

For, you see, it doesn't pay. 

THE PASSING OF FIFTH AVENUE 

Once, in the recent golden past, 
*Twas still the haunt of beauty. 

The mart where ducal crowns were cast, 
And fashion paid her duty; 
62 



Here maidens came to walk and preen, 
And gallant swains to meet them, 

And lovely dames that they be seen. 
And cavaliers to greet them. 

No vulgar signs then met the eye 

Of bottes and lingerie. 
Save such as any passerby 

On rainy days might see, 
When dainty maids, with mincing pace. 

And little laughs and quivers, 
Fled o'er the street, with glint of lace, 

By tiny brooks and rivers. 

Here dwelt the favored ones of wealth. 

In mansions brown and solid. 
And here they drove, in search of health. 

With flunkeys stiff and stolid. 
But now, alas, all that is changed. 

They've left their homes palatial. 
Which greet us, like old friends estranged, 

With signboards inter-racial. 

Farewell, Fifth Avenue, farewell ! 

Where once we promenaded, 
Where once fair heiresses did dwell — 

Thy glory it has faded; 
Thou'rt but the home of business now. 

Thy charm has fled forever. 
And fashion's turned her fickle prow 

To seek the Hudson River. 

A QUESTION OF SEX 

How many men can a woman love? — 

The cynic answered, "none," 
The bachelor said seven, the traveler eleven. 

While the youth murmured, "Only one!" 

63 



How many women can one man love?— 
That is a matter of chance; 

It all depends on his women friends 
And whether they care for romance. 



THE DOWERS 

Buy my English posies- 
Kent and Surrey may. 

Kipling. 

Buy my English titles, 

Brought from overseas, 
Guaranteed and weatherproof, 

Any kind you please: 
Earldoms from the Devon coast, 

Dukedoms up in Fife — 
Buy my English titles 

And I'll take you for my wife. 

Buy my English titles! — 

Here's your means to suit, 
Marquisates and ladyships 

Earldoms too, to boot; 
Buy my lords and viscounts. 

All arranged in sets! — 
Buy my English titles 

And I'll let you pay my debts. 

Maidens of the land of gold, England is the isle 
Where your father's money buys title, name and 

style ; 
Hands across the western sea, courtship on the 

decks — 
Turn the hour and give the dower, father signs the 

checks. 

64 



Buy my English titles, 

Ye who deal in pork, 
Anything from petty lords 

Up to Duke of York; 
Scan the books of peerage well, 

Take your pick and choose — 
Buy my English titles, 

Or you'll send me to the Jews. 

Knights who ride the printed lists, baronets of 

fame — 
Would you be a marchioness ? — gold will buy the 

same ; 
Slaughter-houses far away, ancient family wrecks — 
Turn the hour and give the dower, father signs the 

checks. 



TIME UP TO DATE 

In the springtime Time was lusty, 

Getting up at four a. m.. 
Brewing cider, wine and musty 

Ale, and also drinking them ; 
Calling maids to leave their spinning. 

Wander through the woods at noon — 
But the rascal gave up sinning 

With the pleasant days of June. 

In the summer Time grew graver. 

Lay a little late abed, 
Found that pleasure'd lost its savor — 

That, at least, is what he said ; 
But there was a strong suspicion 

That his nights were sometimes passed, 
As they say, a la Parisian — 

Sort of thing that cannot last. 

65 



So it caused but little wonder 

That the autumn found him quite 
Apopletic, red as thunder 

In the face, a perfect sight; 
And like all who've dissipated 

Till they're in the yellow leaf, 
Lo ! his rising grew belated, 

Really, almost past belief. 

But repentance came with freezing. 

And he started in to take 
Every cure to stop his wheezing: 

Pfarrer Kneipp to latest fake; 
Slept at night beneath the heaven. 

Walked barefooted through the snow. 
Went to bed long, long 'fore seven — 

Bracing up for spring, you know, 

STARRING 

There once was an actor named Carr, 
When asked why he drank, said, "By far 

The most stars are a-twinkle, 

I'm on to the wrinkle — 
Unsteady, they think me a star." 

IN PRAISE OF HOMELY WOMEN 

Prate not of pretty girls to me. 

Of ruby lips and dreamy eyes. 
That beauty cannot cease to be 

An ever fresh and sweet surprise; 
I care not tho' her face be fair. 

And framed as in a wreath of curls — 
For pretty maids I do not care, 

I sing the praise of homely girls. 
66 



I sing of her whose nose is pug, 

Tho' even to the side 'tis tipped, 
Whose figure's like old Omar's jug 

Which mourned the Potter's hand had slipped ; 
And say you that she squints a bit — 

What odds? — and in her speaking halts? 
Nay, girls who squint possess the wit 

To squint a man's most glaring faults. 

A dainty, slender foot, no doubt, 

Is pleasing, when all's said and done, 
But husbands later find it out 

That other kinds are best to run 
Their little errands, fetch their things 

When home they come at day's demise, 
For dainty feet possess no wings — 

Big-footed girls are for the wise. 

The pearly, peach-blow cheek has fears 

Lest cooking spoil its lovely tint. 
Cerulean eyes dare shed no tears. 

Or show of sympathy a hint; 
The hand of Venus smooths no brow, 

Unless it be a duke's or earl's — 
And so when you would choose a Frau, 

Do not neglect the homely girls. 

COMMERCIAL ARISTOCRACY 

I went into a merchant's room. 

And much to my surprise 
I heard his books indulging in 

Both statements and replies; 
The Petty Cash was up in arms. 

And said that he'd insist 
To know the reason he was not 

Upon the Ledger's list. 

67 



The Check Book was in tears because 

He'd stubbed so oft his toe, 
The Journal, as I entered, cried 

That he would like to know 
If it was true the Blank Book had 

Attained to social rank 
By single entry — but the Blank 

Book kept on looking blank. 

The New Account Book hardly dared 

To say a word, for fear 
They'd sneer at him as nouveau riche ; 

The Ledger said, "I hear 
The Bank Book's off his balance"— but 

The merchant entered then, 
And quickly shut them up, as though 

They'd been so many men. 

PHILOSOPHIC SPECULATION 

I wonder if Immanuel "Cant" 
Was really such a hypocrite? 

If Comte was no a-count — I shan't, 
I fear, get at the truth of it. 

Did SchelHng use a pail or can ? 

Has Mrs. Eddy waterfalls? 
To think that Nietzsche's Overman 

Perhaps forgot his overalls! 

CONJUGAL 

When Mr. Brown. is out of town. 

In Boston or Chicago, 
Then Mrs. B., who's read, you see, 

Othello (and lago), 
68 



Behaves her best, and fearful lest 
She shock the world's convention, 

She will not take from Mr. Blake 
The least bit of attention. 

But Mrs. Trend, her bosom friend, 

Is not so narrow-minded. 
Nor hesitates to aid the fates, 

(The world's so easily blinded!) 
And ask to tea both Mrs. B. 

And Blake, or else to dinner. 
And Mrs. Brown, in evening gown, 

Doth chaperone the sinner. 

Now, Mrs. Trend, at dinner's end. 

Is always very "nappy," 
And forced to leave her guests, who grieve, 

Protesting they're unhappy ; 
But you must learn she doth return, 

When finished her siesta — 
And so you see how Mrs. B. 

Pays honor unto Vesta. 



HOBSON'S CHOICE 

Money, brains or character — 

Let me ask you, sir. 
Just between a pair of friends. 

Which do you prefer? 
Which will take you further 

In the social whirl, 
Which will aid a lovesick swain, 

Which will win the girl? 

Hark! the sound of music stirs faintly on the air, 
Visions fleet of glancing feet, couples on the stair, 

69 



Butlers stiff in liv'ried dress: "Brains or money, 

Sir?" 
Raise your voice and take your choice — 
Which do you prefer? 

Money, brains or character — 

Tell me this, I pray: 
Do you love the pleasant things 

Life can give you — say? 
Do you long to see the world, 

Does your heart beat high 
When you think of all you might 

See before you die? 

Swift across the rolling sea sails the yacht away, 
In a flood of molten gold at the fall of day. 
Toward the blessed isles which lie where sky and 

sea concur. 
Raise your voice and take your choice — 
Brains or money, sir? 

CHRISTIAN CHARITY 

Of all the virtues which I boast. 

And which distinguish me, 
The one that I am proud of most 

Is Christian charity; 
On foe or friend a cutting word 

I've never fixed as label, 
And none from me have ever heard 

A thing uncharit — able. 

And yet I must admit that I 

Am tempted sore to speak 
My mind when I behold on high 

Some worthless, fawning sneak; 
Or when I see a man like Gray, 

I know is weak, unstable, 
70 



Appointed to the post of — nay, 
I must be charit — able. 

I spend much time in Washington, 

And there, of course, I see 
No end of things to anger one 

And try one's charity 
But worst of all, I well may say. 

Is seeing wear the sable 
And ermine such a judge as — nay, 

I must be charit — able. 

Indeed, it often seems that fate, 

Had picked me out to test 
My temper by the things I hate, 

The things I most detest; 
There's not a single, blessed day. 

In business or at table, 
I'm not put out by men like — nay, 

I ivill be charit — able. 



HOW TO TELL THE WRITERS 

If you upon a man should hap 

With Shakespeare's face and glance. 

And if he bore, this strenuous chap, 
The Hall-mark of romance — 

Do not be scared and run away, 

For every Caine-ine has his day. 

Each genius has his special line. 
And deftly shapes it to his ends. 

So if you hear a man define 

The fire-escape, and if he spends 

Ten pages on some dirty towels. 

Be sure that you've discovered Howells. 

71 



And yet there's danger of mistake, 

As any one may see, 
So if the subject be a cake 

Of soap, or if it be 
A toothbrush, you must guess again — 
'Tis very likely Miss McClane. 

In case you hear an author cry. 

While deftly making novel mush : 

"Gadzooks, me lord, the hour draws nigh! 
The public waits its daily slush — " 

In such event it's sure to be 

The Major or Miss Johnston — see? 

If you should hear a writer, lass — 

Now, maiden, pray, don't mock you us — 

Try stories on an infant class. 
If morally innocuous — 

You may be sure this rare avis 

Is Mr. Richard Harding Davis. 

In case you hear an author give 

A strange and lurid sermon 
On everything, and how to live, 

While murdering French and German — 
If very, very high falutin, 
It's Miss Corelli, sure as shootin'. 

TAINTED MONEY 

Tainted money, how I hate it! 
Would to heaven, I could abate it, 
Stop the wicked men who spend it, 
Give it, waste it, burn it, lend it, 
Give a library, found a college. 
Pauperize the source of knowledge. 
Eat it, sleep it, ride it, drink it, 
72 



Talk it, breathe it, dream it, think it — 
I would never circulate it. 
Were it mine, so much I hate it. 

Tainted money, I despise it, 
All my self-respect defies it. 
All my love of human nature. 
Of the State and legislature. 
Makes me anxious to abolish. 
What, alas! I can't demolish. 
Long to seize a goodly portion 
Of this wicked, cruel distortion. 
Seize it boldly, confiscate it — 
There, you see how much I hate it. 

A HANDICAP 

"If I could make a trip to France," 

I said, "I'd be content. 
The only thing I need, I'm sure. 

Is fresh environment — " 
To go abroad I straightway got 

A liberal requisition — 
'Twas just as bad — you see, I took 

My horrid disposition. 

"It is not Europe which I need," 

I said when home again, 
"I long to see more distant lands, 

Quite foreign types of men — " 
A sudden windfall sent me forth 

To gratify ambition. 
But India bored me stiff — I took 

My horrid disposition. 

Since then I've journeyed to the south, 
Where rolls the Orinoco, 



I've seen Japan and China, too 
I've braved the fierce sirocco; 

I've lived in Paris, and I've tried 
The Arab's free condition — 

But all in vain, for still I took 
My horrid disposition. 

Ah! would that I might find some place, 

Some fair idyllic isle. 
Where I might quite escape myself, 

At least a little while. 
Alas! I fear I never shall, 

Despite sincere contrition. 
Where'er I go I always take 

My horrid disposition. 



THE REAR GUARD 

A while ago 'twas Europe, which 

Was all the vogue in fiction, 
And anything American 

Caused editorial friction; 
'Twiis then I offered "Western Jim" 

To publishers in vain — 
"You ought to take your 'Jim,' " they said, 

"To France by special train." 

Accordingly I went to France 

Myself to learn the land, 
And wrote "The Roj^al Divorcee" 

From knowledge out of hand ; 
But when I offered it for sale. 

The publishers cried, "No, 
American historical 

Romances are the go." 

74 



Undaunted by these failures, I 

Set out to suit the taste, 
Of publishers and public, and 

Two precious years did waste 
Preparing for my novel called 

"Virginia's Ancient Glory" — 
Alas ! the publishers declared : 

"We want a business story!" 

I'm up against it, as you see, 

For when I have in hand 
A novel ready for the press, 

There is a fresh demand, 
I'm at a loss, I must confess — 

But, stay! a thought I've got — 
I will forestall the public taste 

And write a book called "Rot." 

LAZY MAJESTY 

"Since the advent of the Kaiser to the throne two 
thousand years have been spent in prison for lese 
majeste." — Newspaper. 

You start at five o'clock, A. M., 

And work all day, 'tis said. 
You hardly stop to take your meals. 

You never go to bed ; 
You write an opera after lunch, 

A song while taking tea — 
And yet, in spite of this, they talk 

Of "Lazy Majesty!" 

At nine o'clock you make a speech 

At Frankfort-on-the-Main, 
That lasts till nine Uhr, fifty-six, 

At ten you take the train, 

75 



At twelve you dine at Wilhelmshoh — 

Wherever that may be — 
And write a chapter in your book 

On "Lazy Majesty." 

At one you shoot a stag or two, 

Review some troops, and then 
At tvio you take a special train. 

And back to town again; 
At three you make another speech, 

On "God has chosen me," / 

And sign the papers in the case 

Of "Lazy Majesty." 

How oft you change your uniform, 

How oft you make a speech, 
How oft you dine, how oft you wine. 

How long you take for each, 
I do not know, and no one else. 

But this I cannot see, 
Why there should be such constant talk 

Of "Lazy Majesty." 

THE CONCERT OF THE POWERS 

The Concert of the Powers 

Had been widely advertised. 
And the hall was filled for hours 

In advance of when advised. 
By a crowd all expectation 

Of a pleasant evening, and 
Quite a thrill with delectation 

At the coming of the band. 
Which vv^as European, thank 'ee. 

With but two exceptions, who 
Were Japanese and Yankee, 

Which, of course, was something new; 
76 



And the papers all had stated, 

And declared beyond dispute, 
That their time was celebrated, 

And their harmon}', to boot. 
There were numbers for the Navy, 

With selections from "The Jew," 
The openi. by Halevy, 

Mixed with Yankeedoodledoo ; 
And they'd promised Auber's "Barber 

Of Seville," to show the school 
Of a former age, but changed it 

To the "Butcher of Stamboul." 
So 'tis easily comprehended 

That the interest was not lax 
In the concert they intended 

Giving free of charge or tax ; 
And the people gathered waited. 

While they tuned and made a din. 
Until past the hour stated 

For the Concert to begin ; 
But the players seemed unable 

To agree upon a leader, 
And they made a perfect babel. 

Like a Christian Science "reader;" 
Till it grew a nine days' wonder 

How they'd ever earned their fame, 
And the audience said, "By thunder. 

Can you tell us why we came?" 
The fiddlers all insisted 

They were first violins these days. 
And the French horn man persisted 

In the march "Les Marseilles" ; 
While the German 'cellist grumbled 

That he couldn't understand 
"Vy he vasn't chosen leader 

Of dis leedle Cherman pand" ; 
And the Spaniard and the Dago 
77 



Promptl}' drew out their stilettoes, 
And declared they wouldn't fiddle 

For the benefit of Ghettos; 
While the other plaj^ers added 

To the consequent confusion, 
Till the public saw the Concert 

Was a snare and a delusion. 
But the thing most worthy mention 

Of this evening strange and weird 
Was the quiet, polite attention 

When the management appeared, 
And explained, "You mustn't blame us 

That the Concert was a fake, 
For the Sick Man's in extremis. 

And our China's like to break; 
But if you'll come to-morrow, 

We will play and never fail" — 
And the public, to its sorrow, 

Still believed the ancient tale. 

FLOWER-HEART 

A bachelor in Chinese is called a 'flower-heart, 
the petals signifying his many love-affairs. 

Sweet flower-heart, that blooms for all 

Who chance to pass thy way. 
And come she when the shadows fall. 

Or at the break of day ; 
For each a petal thou canst spare, 

For widow, wife or maid — 
Sweet flower-heart, thou flower rare. 

The richest of the glade. 

Pure flower-heart, whose food is love. 

Who know'st no coarser fare. 
Who sip'st a draught from Lydia's glove, 

A kiss from Amy's hair; 
78 



Nor dost thou claim from all the toll 

And fail thy share to pay — 
Pure flower-heart, ethereal soul, 

Thou darling of the May. 

Poor flower-heart, whose petals fall 

Through life along the way. 
Thus one by one until they all 

Have suffered love's decay; 
And when at last of petals bare 

Thou liest 'mid the fern, 
Poor flower-heart, there's none to care, 

Or weep thy non-return. 

MODERxN MYTHOLOGY 

"The past, with all its fabled forms. 
Has gone for aye," the bards deplore; 

"And fauns and nymphs and dragons fierce 
Are never heard of more." 

You're wrong, O bards, the fabled ones 
Whose death you weep are still the same; 

You do not recognize them, though. 
Because they've changed their name. 

The dragon fierce of ancient times 
Now keeps a modern boarding-house; 

You'll know her victims at a glance, 
They're timid as a mouse. 

She keeps them in her loathsome den, 

And starves them till they're faint and meek; 

More cruel than in days of yore, 
She skins them every week. 

The furies of the classic times — 
'Euraenides' they once were hight — 

79 



To-day are tradesman who with bills 
Pursue us day and night. 

Some claim that dudes are fauns, but I 
Can hardly grant to them this place, 

For though their ears are long, they show 
Traits of a different race. 

Within the surf the nymphs disport. 
When pretty, on the sand, to boot — 

They've learned to like salt water best, 
And wear a bathing-suit. 

Their element the tritons, too, 

Have changed — when heard their trump afar, 
We know it indicates to-day, 

Death by a motor-car. 

The fates are those who hold the strings 

Of money-bags we hope to get. 
And cut us off without a cent — 

Lest we forget, lest we forget. 

Indeed, 'twere easy, had I space. 

To penetrate the faint disguise 
That veils the ancient fabled race 

From modern prying eyes. 

Apollo, Circe, Venus, Mars 

Are met with almost every day — 

To recognize them at a glance 
I've tried to show the way. 



80 



BUTTERFLIES 



I've tak«'n my fun where I found It, 
I're roKued and I've ranged in my time. 

Kipling. 



I have hunted the butterfly species, 

I've chased them with hat and with net, 
And some that I've seen have been beauties. 

But most have brought tears and regret; 
Oh, one was all rich and golden. 

And one was of silver hue, 
And one was as white as the snow is at night. 

And one was of pink and of blue. 

Now, I'm not a good butterfly-catcher, 

But this of the species I wot. 
That when you are surest you have them, 

Why, that is the time that you've not; 
There are times when they flutter right toward you. 

There are times when they heavenward wend, 
And there isn't a rule of the butterly school 

On which you can ever depend. 

When first I went butterfly-hunting 

I tangled myself in my net, 
Till I watched how the old ones were doing, 

Indeed, I am watching them yet; 
And I saw that you mustn't go rushing, 

And bang them with all of your might, 
For that's not in the play, and they all get away — 

Oh, you must be discretely polite. 

When I was over in Europe 

There I saw butterflies too, 
Darting along on a zig-zag — 

Very defective their "flew" — 

8i 



Pretty they were, that is certain, 

Pretty and loving the sun, 
But nevertheless I prefer, I confess, 

The brilliant American one. 

I have hunted the butterfly species, 

And now I am tired of the game, 
For all of wild ones are foolish. 

And all of the tame ones are tame ; 
By nature of course they're inconstant, 

And their love is the thing of a day — 
And so it would seem that the end of the dream 

Is the same as the end of a play. 



A SONG OF THE SEA 

Sing ho! for a cool, merry dip in the sea, 

When the breakers are full at the crest. 
When youth's at the flood and the sap in the tree, 

And hope is at home in the breast! 
Sing ho ! for a maiden who swims far amain. 

And laughs in her mirth when you've caught her! 
Sing ho ! for a dip in the sea once again ! — 

All girls are alike in the water! 

Sing ho ! for the madness and gladness of youth ! 

Sing ho! for the love of the hour! 
Away with your pratings of ethics and truth ! — 

We bow but to love and his pow'r. 
The song of the billows is sweet to the ear, 

Like the love from a maid you have taught her. 
So forth to the sea we will fare without fear — 

All girls are alike in the water ! 



82 



AN AWFUL THOUGHT 

1 tremble when I stop to think 

Of all the deaths I might have died, 
Including death by sudden drink, 

And other pleasant kinds beside; 
The wonder is I'm here at all, 

And not beyond in unknown lands, 
For thus, if rightly read, it seems, 

The problem really stands: 

Suppose, commencing long ago. 

That one of my ancestors who 
Was named, we'll say, Abednego, 

Had never met his wife called Prue ; 
Or, going even further back, 

Suppose my naked forebear Kree 
Had not espied the lovely Shin — 

I'd like to know where I should be. 

But, counting out the deaths that might 

Have killed me long before my birth, 
There still remains a wondrous sight 

That I've escaped since reaching earth: 
I might have yelled myself to death, 

Or nurse have rolled on me in bed, 
Or some sweet child, in search of truth, 

Have pressed upon my infant head. 

I might have swallowed pins and things, 

Or in my second summer spread, 
Disgusted with the heat, my wings 

For watering-places overhead; 
I might have tried to swim, or else 

Have killed myself with work at school, 
Or shown myself in other ways 

To be a mortuary fool. 

83 



With love I might have pined away, 

Or else have won her tender heart, 
And then have killed myself some day 

Because we had not kept apart; 
I might have caught the "grippe" and tried 

What Christian Science couldn't do — 
And so, it seems, I might have died 

A thousand ways, and so might you. 

A BALLAD OF INCONSTANCY 

Lord Butterfly, thou one-day king, 

I pray thee pause a bit — 
Give answer to my questioning, 

Why do'st thou ever flit 
From flow'r to flow'r on fickle wing — 

One moment, then away — 
Is there no bud of all the spring 

So sweet thou fain wouldst stay? 

The day is short, and long my quest, 

The fleeting moments call; 
How can I tell which flow'r is best 

Unless I taste of all? 

Laborious Bee, arrest thy flight, 

And share thy lore with me — 
Thou surely canst not deem it right. 

Such sad inconstancy? 
I've watched thee here and there alight 

And sip without rebuff — 
Thou think'st not on the flowers' plight — 

Were not one flow'r enough? 

The treasure-comb which I would fill 
Must last till time completes 

84 



The year — I wish no flower ill, 
But none holds all the sweets. 

Thou Robin Redbreast, cease thy song, 

E'en tho' thy mate repine — 
And dost thou, too, defend the wrong, 

This fickleness of thine? 
I've seen thee now three summers long. 

At work and love and play — 
Do thoughts regretful never throng, 

Of mates of yesterday? 

My heart is filled with love for all, 
The past's a dream, and when 

I hear a lover's answ'ring call, 
I wake to dream again. 



THE NEW ATLANTIS 

The poets sing of happy lands 

Where Nature smiles throughout the year, 
Where Ceres comes with laden hands. 

And Bacchus still prolongs his cheer; 
The Islands of the Blest are sought 

To-day as in the olden time — 
But not to them doth turn my thought, 

I sing another, happier clime. 

I sing a land where everything 

Spells harmony and sweet content, 
Where all that emperor or king 

Could wish, at wish expressed is sent; 
Where but a postal card's required 

To bring these treasures all to hand — 
I sing — Oh Muse, I hope inspired! — 

The pleasant Advertising Land. 

85 



In Advertising Land the shoes 

All fit the most ungainly feet, 
The garters that the natives use 

Cannot drop off upon the street; 
The hats and cloaks are dreams of taste, 

The gloves are never known to rip, 
The corsets give a perfect waist, 

The hooks and eyes prevent a slip. 

The food the happy people eat 

Is lighter than the snowy flake, 
Their buckwheat cakes are said to beat 

The kind that Mother used to make; 
Their coffee soothes to pleasant dreams. 

Their flour rises of itself. 
Their wine, that flows in bounteous streams, 

Has stood two centuries on the shelf. 

Of course, there's nothing in this land 

To bring on indigestion's qualms, 
Yet still they always keep on hand 

And endless list of pleasant balms; 
Indeed, their medicines are such 

The children all pretend they're ill, 
They love their castor oil so much 

They simply cannot get their fill. 

The pictures of the maidens that 

Inhabit Advertising Land 
Show pleasing plumpness, never fat — 

F'or anti-fat they keep on hand ; 
Their charms are sung by scribe and bard, 

They join economy with style — 
I think I'll mail a postal card, 

"Please send me one of them on trial." 



86 



THE FATAL BRIDGE 

I am a civil engineer, 

And many a bridge I've built 
And proved the skill of other men, 

Nor ever yet been spilt, 
Suspension bridges hold, I find. 

And cantelevers, too — 
But, oh, there is one kind of bridge 

I'd shun if I were you. 

The name you'll hardly find in works 

On engineering skill, 
And even at the Polytec. 

You'll learn about it — nil; 
But if you're at a country house 

Sometime that's very swell. 
Some evening you may get a chance 

To cross this bridge to — well! 

The smiling hostess will propose 

A little game, you know. 
Oh, just to while away the time, 

Which moves along so slow; 
And you'll be asked to take a hand 

At whist — you play it well — 
And then you'll learn the quickest way 

To cross this bridge to — well! 

It's very simple, just as plain 

As anything can be. 
One hand upon the board they lay 

For every one to see; 
And you, of course, are charmed to please 

Your hostess, Mrs. Bell — 
And that's the way a fellow learns 

To cross this bridge to — well! 

87 



THE FOURTHS OF OTHER YEARS 

Ah, Tom, have you forgot the days 

When you and I were tackers, 
The merry times at Valentine, 

The Fourth with bombs and crackers? 
I've not been back before, my lad, 

Now forty years and more, 
But recollections crowd the place, 

Like sand upon the shore. 

'Twas here upon this spot Jim tried — 

It seems but yesterday — 
To hold a cracker in his teeth — 

Jim long has passed away — 
And yonder by the willow-tree 

Poor foolish Willie Shannon 
Insisted he could catch the ball 

You shot from out our canon. 

Here, where the grass is rank and tall, 

Once stood the barn, you know, 
They've not rebuilt it since it burned 

Near fifty years ago; 
You recollect how high the flames 

Leapt up to meet the sky — 
I'll not forget the whipping, though, 

We got until I die. 

This is the spot where Harry Hall 

Across the road was blown, 
And yonder by the gate is where 

We frightened Uncle's roan 
So badly that he ran away. 

And finally dropped down dead — 
They picked up poor old Uncle where 

He'd landed on his head. 

88 



Ah yes, dear Tom, we're growing old, 

The years are fleeting fast, 
But still my heart grows young again 

When I recall the past; 
When I recall the happy days, 

The friends we sent before — 
We'll celebrate the Fourth with them 

Soon on the other shore. 

THE THREE DOCTORS 

(A Study in New York reformers.) 

There were three doctors called to treat 

A camel that was sick, 
And as it was an urgent case. 

The message read, "Come quick!" 
Now, each in turn declared when he 

The patient had espied, 
" 'Twas well you sent for me, or else 

He certainly had died." 

The first one diagnosed the case 

As that of violent grumps; 
The second differed, for he said 

'Twas nothing short of dumps; 
But lo, the last in anger cried, 

"You prove that you are frumps! 
The trouble is this camel has 

A bad attack of humps!" 

Each having thus declared his views 

Based solely on his dictum. 
All three began to prove their case 

By reference to the victim ; 
"His feet are split," cried Dr. Brown, 

"Of grumps a certain proof, 

89 



You've let this camel drink too much, 
And hence his cloven hoof." 

"Tush, tush!" said Dr. Fowne, "you're wrong. 

The camel's neck observe, 
'Twas made for drinking purposes, 

Just see that syphon-curve; 
But, oh, the swelling of the knees 

Doth prove he has the dumps — " 
Then Dr. Gown said, "I would call 

Attention to his humps." 

And so these Galens talked until 

They passed from words to blows. 
And Dr. Brown hit Dr. Fowne 

Directly on the nose; 
While Dr. Gown strove hard to prove 

He'd right upon his side — 
But, oh, while they were fighting thus 

The patient patient died. 



"He died of grumps" said Dr. Brown, 

"He died of dumps," said Fowne; 
"My friends, you are mistaken. 

It was humps," corrected Gown. 
And so insisting he was right, 

Each sent his bill that day. 
And swore the beast would not have died 

Had he but had his way. 



90 



THE CELTIC REVIVAL 

"There has been a great revival in Ireland along 
all lines of activity." — Newspaper item. 

Oh, sweet to me ears is the news that Oi've had 

In letters and papers from Cork, 
The place whin Oi lift it was nearly as bad 

As Boston, or even New York; 
But now, Oi am told, it's reformed and reclaimed, 

And ivery one's gettin' religion, 
It's proud that Oi am, and no longer ashamed. 

It's proud as a big pouter pigeon. 
Oi see them, the boys and the girls that Oi knew, 

A-walkin' to church of a Sunday, 
Confessin' their sins, as a Christian must do 

Before he starts out for the Monday; 
Oi see them, the boys that Oi licked whin a lad. 

The girls that Oi kissed in the square, 
A-singin' and shoutin' as though they were mad, 
A-stampin' and sighin' and weepin', by Gad, 

And gettin' religion for fair — 

Oh, they've got a revival in Ireland. 

Oi mind me before Oi come over the sea, 

Tim Brady, Pat Boon and Mike Bailey 
Were always disputin' as laders with me — 

They were great with the lovely shillaly! — 
Oi mind me the friendly, foine bouts that we had, 

The heads that we cracked. Oh ! so nately, 
The wake? and the weddin's and dancin's, me lad. 

The girls who could smile, Oh ! so swately ; 
Oi mil- J me the larks and the sparkin's at night, 

The songs and the jokin' and laughter. 
The joy whin it come to a good Irish fight. 

And the foine reminiscin' thereafter; 
Oi mind me all this whin Oi think of the days 

91 



Ere ivcr Oi come to New York — 
And thin it's meself that is not givin' praise 
For all of the change that's come over the ways 

Of me fiiends far away in old Cork — 

Oh, damn the revival in Ireland! 



AFTER SCHOOL 
(A Post-Lenten Meditation) 

Again the gong for play has rung, 

Again vacation's here, 
With merry shout the school lets out, 

'Tis over for the year; 
No time at all is lost, the games 

Are taken up, you know. 
Where they were dropped when play was stopped 

Some forty days ago. 

Yon group has started "fox and geese" — 

The silly geese they seem 
To hesitate and tempt their fate. 

Yet when they're caught they scream; 
Indeed, 'tis no unusual thing. 

As in the world of barter, 
That when a fox has caught a goose 

He finds he's caught a Tartar. 

Already here and there is spread 

A luncheon full in sight, 
By rivals who have asked a few 

Dear friends to have a "bite"; 
But entre nous, I much suspect 

They sent the invitations 
While still in school and broke the rule — 

Omitting poor relations. 

92 



Oh yes, the sport is fine, but those 

Who play must pay the deuce, 
For they, you see, are forced to be 

A fox or else a goose; 
I'd much prefer to stay in school 

And rest a while in peace; 
But did I so I'd lose, I know, 

My place at "fox and geese." 



IN DEUTSCHLAND 

"In Germany it is necessary to have a certificate, 
or Schein, for every act in life, even for dying." — 
Newspaper item. 

In Deutschland on your natal day 

Day fills you out a Schein, 
Dat says you're called now such a way. 

Your IMudder's name vas Bein — 
"Now don't you get dis lost or torn," 

Dee Polizei says denn, 
"For if you do, you ain't been born 
At all, and can't get spanked or sworn 

Till you get horned again." 

In Deutschland van you go to school 

Day fills you out a Schein, 
Dat testifies you aint no fool, 

Und aint no idiot — nein — 
"Now, don't you get dis lost, mine lad," 

Dee Polizei says denn, 
"For if you do, you'll find it pad, 
Und vont know nuddings till, by Gad, 

You go to school again." 

93 



In Deutschland ven you takes a vife, 

Day fills you out a Schein, 
Und likevise ven you takes your life, 

Or me, if I takes mine — 
"Now, don't lose dis und lose your head,' 

Dee Polizei says denn, 
"For if you do, you don't be dead 
Till you have paid a fine instead, 

Und gone got dead again." 



CONSISTENCY 

There once was a Rocky young Feller 
Who had lots of rocks colored yeller; 

So he sang Rock of Ages, 

And lowered the wages 
Of all who burned gas in their cellar. 



94 



MAR 8 1907 



